Genie in a brass bottle
by tazx x x
Summary: Ichigo has inherited a distant uncles possesions and while sorting through them, he stumbles upon something unexpected. However, it seems theres more to his dicoveries cold behaviour then meets the eye. Grimm/Ichi. AU. Short story.


**A/N. Hello! ^.^ this is my first proper attempt at a Grimm/Ichi so please be gentle, ne? I've had this idea for a while but never really got around to writing it but now, at whatever-aclock in the morning it is inspiration has struck so I decided to write it down. This was originally meant to be a two shot but considering the time of night (and that my burst of creativity is dying down) I've decided to split it further. So maybe it'll be a three shot? I'm not sure but either way, don't be expecting a long fic. **

**Warnings?****: Yaoi/ BoyXBoy, possible OOC in some areas (forgive me...) Un-beta'd...somewhat angsty grimmjow and bad attempts at humour.**

**Disclaimer****: I don't own bleach and neither do I own its characters.**

**Genie in a brass bottle.**

Ichigo sighed heavily as he hefted the last dust covered box into his much too small living room. The orange haired boy couldn't believe how much stuff was now cluttering his home. Boxes could be found littered on every available surface and piling high on top of each other; creating what he liked to call "The Leaning Tower Of Shit I Don't Want". The 23 year old huffed petulantly as he shoved the box onto the last available bit of space on his new leather couch. As he looked about his newly cluttered apartment he silently cursed and thanked his luck.

It had only been a mere month ago when he had found out about the -surly very tragic- death of his great uncle Yamamoto. A man who, despite having been related to his late mother, he had never met at the constant vehement protests of his father, Isshin Kurosaki. He remembered the day clearly as it had been the same day that he found out that, after weeks of trying, his friend Rukia had finally succeeded in getting pregnant with his other friend, Renji's, child.

The orange haired man had gone to his families home the next day to share the good news, only to find his father unashamedly, and rather disturbingly, celebrating the letter of condolences he had gotten about dear uncle Yamamoto. At first, he'd been understandably horrified that his father was actually _happy_ that someone, more specifically, _someone they were related to_, having died. That was however, before he found out all the details about the man he never knew.

Apparently, Genryūsai Yamamoto had been a rich and influential man before he died. The man had owned several large companies and was both feared and respected by his peers even as he became old and decrypt. The catch? The man had not only been incredibly racist but massively homophobic and sexist. Ichigo had immediately understood why his father never invited the man over for tea and biscuits.

Being as hateful as he was, Yamamoto had left a will outright forbidding any of his money, inheritable companies or possessions to be donated to charity. Because of this, Yamamoto had been forced to allow one of his existing family members to inherit his veritable goldmine.

Isshin had been out of the question. In fact, the old man had actually left a letter to his father explaining -in great detail- how much he loathed the man. Why the man would go to such lengths to write hate mail _on his death bed_, Ichigo just didn't want to know.

Karin and Yuzu, outrageously enough, had been denied the inheritance simply because Yamamoto didn't believe they deserved it. Heaven forbid he give his things to someone with a vagina. Needless to say, it hadn't taken Ichigo long to understand- and share- his fathers dislike of the battered old codger.

Which, if you hadn't guessed so far, left him. Regardless of the fact that Ichigo was, in Yamamoto's own written words, a "poncy gymnast with stupid hair" the old man had begrudgingly admitted that Ichigo was the only person he deemed half-worthy of inheriting his fortune. And, considering how little time he had left, half-worthy was the best he could get.

Ichigo had laughed for seemingly hours after all the documents were settled and Yamamoto's money was officially his. The old bastard had officially given all his money and belongings to his gay nephew. He still chuckled at the irony.

In the beginning Ichigo had been at a loss as to what to do with everything he'd been given but with some careful deliberations with his father and an old family friend, Kisuke Urahara, the gymnast had come to a decision.

The companies were sold to the highest bidder and the money gained shared between Karin, Yuzu and his fathers bank accounts and the rest of the junk he was given was going to be sorted and either kept or sold. Ichigo had even decided that he would give Urahara some of the money they make as a thank you for all the help he'd given them.

He could almost _see_ Yamamoto rolling in his grave.

With renewed energy- and a good dose of near-crippling curiosity, Ichigo settled back to work. He knew that it would probably take weeks to sort through everything but he was already sick of the sight of the bland, cardboard boxes so the sooner he finished the better.

The gymnast pushed his way through his new living room towards the kitchen. Oh, hadn't he mentioned it yet? One of the first things he had done with Yamamoto's money was find himself a new and larger apartment on a better side of town.

Ichigo was a rather well known rhythmic gymnast and had even managed to earn himself a nice pair of medals that he took great pride in. But, despite that and the few adverts he'd been offered to show up in, he just hadn't had enough money to get out of his shabby one bedroomed apartment.

Or rather, he _had_ but all his money had gone towards a knee surgery for Karin who had had a serious injury during one of her high school soccer games. Soccer had been a big part in Karins life and had been what she put her energy into after their mother had died; it became both something she could enjoy and something to distract her from the painful memories. It had broken his heart to see how miserable she had been when she was told she couldn't play again and so he and Isshin had scraped up every penny they could get their hands on to pay for her surgery.

The orange haired gymnast wanted to smile and say that it had gone perfectly and Karin was out playing soccer right now, but it hadn't. The surgery had been successful in repairing her knee further but Karin still was unable to play soccer like she wanted to. Knowing that even with surgery she couldn't get the one thing she wanted, Karin had settled further into a depression that was leaving her body brittle from malnourishment- as she didn't bother to eat if not reminded- and leaving Ichigo feeling like the biggest failure known to man.

Shaking away the thoughts of what a bad brother he was, Ichigo reached into his kitchen drawer and pulled out a packing knife. After fighting valiantly to reach his couch once more Ichigo sat in the small space left in front of it and reached for the box he had placed on the burgundy leather earlier.

Knife in hand, Ichigo set about cutting open the top of the box. He muttered irritably about the amount of sellotape covering the cardboard and let out a triumphant little "ah!" when he had hacked away the box enough to open the flaps at the top.

With no small amount of suspense Ichigo hastily put down his knife and opened the box, only to be greatly disappointed when all that lay inside was old cutlery and bubble wrap. Most of the contents were wrapped securely with bubble wrap and tape while others- like the few knives and forks he could see- were left unwrapped as if placed in the box half-heartedly to be forgotten about.

"Figures" He mumbled dejectedly.

He sighed as if the world was against him and picked up a small wrapped bundle. Opening it- after another fight with increasingly frustrating sellotape- the orange haired man was surprised when, instead of finding a tea cup or a jug like he had expected, the bubble wrap moved away to reveal a fairly small, brass statue of an interestingly detailed stag.

The stag stood on a small, cliff-like stand and appeared to be wailing at an invisible moonlit landscape. The small scene reminded him more of a howling wolf then a deer and Ichigo decided that this surprise had defiantly been on the more pleasant side.

As he continued to search through the box, he noticed that despite the items all being various things – ranging from statues, a door knocker and, yes, cutlery- all of the items were made from brass. He had a hard time figuring out why anyone would categorize items by what they're made of instead of fragility or anything _important_ like that.

Another 5 or so minutes of cutting through ridiculously wrapped bubble wrap and _way too damned much sellotape,_ Ichigo came across a slightly larger package. With excitement bubbling once again, the orange haired man quickly tore though the cushiony wrap.

In hindsight, he probably should have expected to be disappointed _once again_ as it was starting to become quite the trend lately. Ichigo stared- a little more of a broken man than before- down at the brass...pot in his hands. Although, it didn't really look like a pot at all.

It was strangely thin with an elegantly curved handle and a long stout that hooped once on itself. The brass of the pot itself was dull and murky and made Ichigo wonder why the old coot had even kept it. Although, despite its shabby appearance there wasn't one chip or scratch and the pot still had its original brass stopper. If he was honest, he thought it kind of looked like an impractical kettle.

The gymnast frowned in dismay at his uninspiring find and rubbed his thumb lightly against its surface. He recoiled slightly in disgust at the unreal amounts of dust that clung to his thumb afterwards and frowned heavily. With one large inhale and exhale, Ichigo blew harshly on the brass pot in his hands.

A large, swirling cloud of dust was his reward and he coughed harshly, fanning the air with his hand to disperse the annoying cloud. He let out a load, unmanly yelp, however, when the pot in his hand began to shake violently.

Ichigo stood in shock and attempted to keep his hold on the pot but its convulsing soon proved too much and he dropped the pot with a shout. A load _clang_ sounded as it hit the floor and, as if reprimanded for its actions, the pot stopped moving instantly but somehow managed to stay standing upright.

With a furiously beating heart and a siren in his head blaring "Caution", Ichigo stepped forward again and reached out to the fallen pot. The second his fingers brushed its worn handle a sudden burst of white smoke billowed out of its strangely shaped nozzle.

The shock sent Ichigo reeling backwards, only to trip over a box behind him and tumble painfully down on top of it.

Smoke continued to rise out of the pot before it began to shift and merge until Ichigo was staring at the shape of a man. The smoke changed colour in places; smoothed out and hardened and soon Ichigo was staring up at muscled form of another man.

The man had fairly pale skin covered only by an open white jacket and a pair of loose white hakama. Bright, sky blue locks fell in messily styled tresses about his head; a few lone strands even dropping to fall across his forehead and into startlingly beautiful cobalt blue eyes that were staring straight into his own chocolate brown orbs. The blue haired man looked to have have triangular teal tattoos at the edges of his bottom eyelids. The man stood tall and heart-stoppingly beautiful with a strong chin, regally set nose and a packed midriff to die for. On the man's left ear was a feathered earring covered in shiny black and brown beads that fell down almost long enough to brush a strong looking shoulder.

The orange haired man had to hold back a pitiful whine as the sinfully gorgeous man crossed his arms and covered part of the chiselled abs he was _quite_ enjoying staring at. Ichigo watched, enthralled, as the man opened his mouth to speak, near desperate to hear his voice.

The rich, gravely voice that tumbled from full, pink lips had him shivering in delight despite the uncomfortable position he was still in.

"I am Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez and this is your fuckin' lucky day kid. It was my lamp you disturbed and- _are you stuck in a box?_"

**A/N2. So, opinions? I know its not wonderful (and is rather short too) and my fics tend to have a bit of a ...blandness I'm hoping to overcome but really, your opinions mean a lot to me so criticism is welcome. Please leave a review and sorry for any mistakes and bleakness in the chapter (no matter what I do I always end up writing something bland and morbid...its a curse really.) **

**Also, I don't specifically hate Yamamoto, in case you're wondering. He just seemed to fitting, so, sorry anyone that ...likes him, I didn't _mean_ to make him to mean...it just happened...**

**Thank you for reading and I hope to get the next chapters out soon but until then, bear with me okay? (this is my first multi-chaptered fic too *bites nails *) **

**Tazx x x**


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